Page 64 of Wolf of the Storm
Six more wolves pour into the courtyard. Behind me, I hear Jax's snarl as his own shift takes him—smaller than my wolf but lean and vicious, all grey fury and cold precision.
The battle becomes chaos.
I lose track of individual opponents. It's all instinct now—dodge, strike, tear. My wolf knows what to do. Trust the animal, Declan. Trust the power.
Then my radio crackles with Tessa's voice, tinny and distant through the chaos: "Declan, the docks. They're hitting the docks too. The cartel's using the attack as cover."
Of course they are. Connor's not just after the bloodline carriers. He's crippling our entire operation, burning our resources, forcing us to choose.
The village or the docks. Nessa or our livelihood. An innocent child or the entire pack's survival.
Jax!I shout through the pack bond.With me. Village and docks. We hold both.
His grey eyes flash understanding. Impossible odds. Suicide mission.
He grins, blood on his fangs.About time.
We run.
The village streets blur past. My wolf is faster than any vehicle, Jax keeping pace beside me. The docks are half a mile away—nothing at this speed. Storm clouds gather overhead, responding to my fury, my desperation. Thunder rolls like war drums.
I feel it then. The connection I've always danced around, always held back from fully embracing. The thing that makes me Storm Alpha, not just pack leader. Not just a wolfshifter.
The storm isn't just responding to me.
Itisme.
Lightning forks across the sky, but I'm not separate from it. I'm the electricity in the air, the ozone charge, the fury of nature unleashed. Rain begins to fall, but each drop is an extension of my awareness. The thunder that crashes isn't background noise—it's my voice, magnified and made manifest.
I am the storm.
At the docks, Connor's people have torched two warehouses. Flames lick the sky despite the rain, chemical fires that won't be easily extinguished. A dozen cartel soldiers with automatic weapons are trying to finish the job, to burn everything we've built.
Beyond them, I see three vehicles racing back toward the village. Toward the inn. Toward Nessa.
I have seconds to choose.
Jax reads my hesitation.Go,he snarls through the link.I've got the docks.
Alone?
Send me the storm.
He’s right.
I close my eyes and stop fighting my instincts. Stop trying to control the power. I let go completely.
The storm responds like a wild animal finally released from its cage.
Lightning strikes the dock—once, twice, three times. Precise hits that send cartel soldiers scrambling, weapons flying from shocked hands. The rain intensifies into a deluge, water streaming from the sky so thick it's like standing under a waterfall. Thunder cracks with every strike, concussive force that rattles buildings and stops hearts.
Through the storm's awareness, I see Jax move. He's not just one wolf anymore—he's a grey shadow dancing between thechaos, using the rain and wind as cover. Strikes and vanishes. Strikes again. The cartel soldiers don't know what hit them.
I spin and race back to the village, my paws barely touching wet cobblestones. The three vehicles have reached Flynn's Inn. Men pour out, and I count five more wolves among them. Connor's really emptied his arsenal for this.
The inn's front door is still intact. Still closed. Eliza, Moira and Nessa are still inside.
I shift mid-run, human form slamming back into place just long enough to grab a fallen plank of wood as an improvised weapon. Then I shift again, the transformation so fast it's almost instantaneous. Back and forth, using each form's strengths.
